Deirdre Dursley: Witch
by onlinescribbles
Summary: Dudley's brows came together, and mind travelled back some years. How could he forget the millions of letters that flooded through every crevice in their home? The letters that changed their lives forever. The letters that changed his life forever. "Dad?" Deirdre said, curiosity laced with the tone. "What's Hogwarts?"
1. Deirdre Dursley: Witch

**Deirdre Dursley: Witch**

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><p>Dudley Dursley never truly hated Harry Potter. He had only hated his cousin the way any pair of children living in the same household would.<p>

Everything that Harry possessed, materialistic or otherwise, Dudley was fascinated by. Each year when Vernon Dursley would lock away his magical possessions, Dudley couldn't help but sneak a peek of the rustic trunk being pulled into the cupboard under the stairs. From upstairs, he watched as his father shoved in seemingly ordinary objects - a broomstick, textbooks, and robes - into the closet, not to be seen again until the end of the summer.

His parents never thought the same way, and often - not often, consistently - pretended that the whole ordeal had never happened. After his family and the Harry went their separate ways, neither of them were ever talked about again. While he was living with his parents, the subject of Harry Potter was taboo.

But after that last day on Privet Drive, Dudley had merely grown more and more curious about the world he had never gotten to experience. The world Harry Potter had come from was terrifying. Dudley could admit that. But was that not part of curiosity? You _had _to be mildly scared of something to be curious about it.

At the beginning, he was merely stunned. He remembered how mesmerised he had been when he saw the owl that Harry had bought when the giant had taken him out to shop for his school supplies that first year. He remembered passing by his room later, as he watched Harry take out an odd looking box. It was long, and held a strange looking wooden rod - a wand, he later realised. Harry had seen him peeking through the door, and told him to leave. Dudley did just that, but only after sneering at his muddy stick.

Afterwards Dudley had passed by his room several more times, hoping to catch a glimpse at the other mystical objects he had purchased that day.

Most often, Dudley recalled the days when Harry would make his grandiose escape from their shared place of residence, fantasizing about the flying cars and forms of teleportation he would never understand. He had marvelled at the technological, or perhaps not so technological, advancements of their world.

More than twenty years later, Dudley still found himself laying in bed wondering.

"Dudley!"

The chipper voice dragged him from his daydreams, and caused him to roll out of bed. Dudley groggily reached for the robe hanging at the foot of his bed, and tied it around his still rather large waist. As he stumbled downstairs the floorboards creaked beneath him, but the noise from the kitchen overpowered it.

"Deirdre!" A screech caused everyone in the room to wince. "I want to see!"

There were tousles of lemony colored tresses that flew across the room, which nearly caused Dudley harm. Another woman was stood by the stove top, as she hummed a tune. "Morning dear!" She said, stepping towards him so she could peck him on the cheek. "The children have been rotten all morning." She said, though she sounded more amused than mad.

Dudley grunted, meaning to make it sound more like a laugh than it had. "Dillon, leave your sister alone." He drawled, as he fell into his usual morning routine.

He was used to the mayhem his children caused each morning, and was even slightly amused with their banter. He had sworn to himself when he had found out that Lacey was with child that he would be a better father to his children than his own had been. Though he loved his father dearly, Dudley knew that there were many negative traits that he had dutifully attempted to pass down to his son - some of which had made it.

Dudley was stubborn. Impatient. Peevish. Sometimes his children pushed until the his breaking point, but they always knew when their father was being pushed too far.

Reluctantly, Dillon stepped away from his sister. "She won't let me see any of her presents!"

The woman by the stovetop walked over and handed her husband a steaming cup of coffee. "Thanks, Lace."

Lacey smiled, and gave her husband another peck on the temple. Dudley brought his hand where her mouth had been moments before, and rested his head on his hand. "Can you not let Dillon open just one?"

"Because," Deirdre said, elongating the word. "It is _my_ birthday. Dill can open all the presents he wants on his own." She and her brother had been blessed with long, blonde tresses. Their eyes were the same warm brown as Lacey had. Deirdre had bangs that made it near impossible for her to be still, as she was constantly brushing them away.

Dudley smiled, and rolled his eyes over to his son. "She has a point."

"Please, Dee?" Dillon pouted.

Sighing, Deirdre handed her brother one of the smaller presents she knew to be a book her grandmother must have purchased her on proper dinner party etiquette. She was planning on using for confetti later on, so she didn't mind so much when her brother eagerly tore open the packaging.

Dudley let another smile grace his face, and heard the familiar sound of a letter being dropped through the mailbox. His eyebrows furrowed together on their own accord, and he turned to his equally confused wife.

"There is no post on Sundays." She mumbled under her breath.

For a moment Dudley was transported back to his own eleventh birthday. He recalled his father and the booming voice that resounded through the kitchen. "_No post on Sundays!" _He had said, while Dudley began to question his sanity.

"Deirdre!" Lacey called, shouting over the noise. Dillon had begun to ask whether he could tear open another present, but Deirdre had started to push him away from her pile. "Could you get the post?"

Her daughter sighed, but reluctantly departed from her small pile of presents. "Alright." She said, drearily. "Do not even think about it!" Deirdre pointed toward her brother, who was eyeing the packages in the corner.

Dudley returned to his cup of coffee, closing his eyes and breathing in the warm scent. For a second, sleep overpowered him. His thoughts from the early morning returned.

Dudley had not spoken to Harry Potter in nineteen long years. For all he knew, Harry could be dead. Perhaps that war that had started some years ago had beaten him. Perhaps Harry was not all that Dudley had assumed he was.

He had not contacted Dudley, not that he would have anyway. And Dudley did not know the first thing when it came to contacting magical folk. He knew that while Harry had been a resident of Privet Drive there had been constant hoards of owls at his window, but where would Dudley ever be able to get an owl? And how would the owl know where to go?

Slow steps came from the hallway, and Dudley turned to see his daughter skimming over a yellow piece of parchment with a scarlet seal that had been torn open.

His brows came together, and mind travelled back some years. How could he forget the millions of letters that flooded through every crevice in their home? The letters that changed their lives forever. The letters that changed _his _life forever.

"Dad?" Deirdre said, curiosity laced with the tone. "What's Hogwarts?"

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><p><strong>Authors Notes: <strong>I have always believed that after Dudley and Harry went their separate ways Dudley spent copious amounts of his time thinking about the magical world, because it was indirectly a huge part of his life. I like to think that he was actually intrigued, rather than terrified as his parents were. Makes me all happy :)

I initially intended for this to be a one shot, but then I got to thinking about more intense plotline. I guess I could just see how this goes first, and maybe finish my other story before I even begin to think about this one.

Let me know what you think with a nice review! They warm the cockles of my heart :D


	2. Mishaps on Platform 9

**2. Mishaps on Platform Nine and Three Quarters**

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><p>Deirdre had never been to the train station before, as she never had the need to be. She never had the need to leave the suburban dream house that had been her home. Everywhere she wanted to be was within walking distance, and she had never even considered the countries overseas. Deirdre had never even travelled down to London until a man had pounded on their door and asked permission to escort her down a road with a ridiculous name to purchase items that she would need at her new school.<p>

She smiled.

Deirdre had been sheltered her entire existence. She had never done something adventurous and she had never been considered brave.

But she wanted to be.

Deirdre had lived in a small town near London. It was more secluded from the hustle and bustle of the main roads. It lacked in excitement. It lacked in difference. It _lacked_.

Behind the blonde haired Deirdre was her father. His head shot in all directions - darting around the station. It was like he was searching for something. Or more accurately, some_one._

Yes, now - more than ever - Harry Potter occupied most of Dudley's thoughts throughout the day. It had been one thing to let his mind wander back to his childhood that fateful day, reminiscing and pondering over the "what if's?", but now he constantly found himself rewinding his memories back to the days when Harry Potter had not been more than a few steps away.

What would he ask him now, he wondered. Surely, he would not dare apologise - his father had passed down the enormous pride that had often been his downfall to him, preventing him from doing anything of the sort. But, then, what _would_ he do if he were to encounter his cousin once more?

"Dad."

Dudley looked down to his daughter, and descended from his memories. "Maybe you should just leave me here," she suggested. "I mean, I'll bet all the other kids are leaving themselves too."

Deirdre did not believe this for a moment, but saw the nervous look upon her fathers face - who, she believed, had never been a part of anything other than ordinary. He had grown up in a conventional household, with her utterly ordinary grandparents. He'd lived a dull life at Number Four Privet Drive. As far as Deirdre was concerned, Dudley had always been the epitome of normalcy. A mere cardboard cutout of his father, something she had no desire to become.

However, Deirdre also understood, from years of observation at dull Christmas dinners and Thanksgiving get-togethers, that her father had no desire to become anything like _his_ father either - and he tried, oh did he try.

But no matter how hard he tried, Dudley could not fully rid himself of the unfortunate habits he had picked up from his parents, nor could he ever become fully comfortable with the idea of being something different, of being something worthwhile, and _extra_ordinary.

"Yes, yes of course." Dudley said, feeling slightly taken aback by his daughters sudden burst of independence.

Deirdre smiled, and took a step over to wrap her arms around her father. He was never one for physical displays of affection, and she knew that as well, which is why she was so surprised to find her father replying with a similar gesture. Her face was snuggled up against his chest, and she couldn't help but smile into him. "I'll see you at Christmas." She said, trying to sound as light hearted as possible. "And I'll send you letter as soon as I arrive."

Dudley nodded, and slowly released his daughter. "Have-" he stopped in the middle of his sentence, wondering _what _advice he could give to his daughter. From all his years of knowledge on the magical world, of which was minimal, what would come in useful? "Be safe."

Deirdre, momentarily confused by his odd send off, nodded. "'Course, Dad." She said, her brows slightly furrowed. She took a breath, and glanced over her shoulder at the hoards and hoards of people shuffling into the station. Deirdre looked back up to her father, and smiled. "Right then," she said. "I guess I should go catch the train now."

Dudley nodded. The clock had long since begun counting down the mere minutes until the trains departure. "S'pose you don't want to be late now, do you?" He said. "Alrigh' then, get on."

Deirdre turned to the cart holding her trunk, and smiled once more at her father. As she began to walk away, she couldn't help but occasionally glance back to where her father stood moments ago. His face had begun to blend in with the thousand others she was weaving through. Soon, he was unrecognisable. A rush of exhilaration flooded through Deirdre, as she walked independently to a place she had never been.

However, that seemed to be the very issue that would be needing solving. As she had never been told _how _to get on the platform. The man who had shown up on her doorstep so many months ago had merely given her a slip of paper, reading the time of departure and the platform. It was only now that Deirdre remembered another important detail of this exchange that had been conveniently left out.

_Where the bloody hell is Platform Nine and Three Quarters? _

Deirdre pushed the trolley forward, keeping an eye out for anything seemingly magical. When she had been taken to Diagon Alley, the man who had escorted her used some sort of code with a wand. He'd tapped on several bricks, which promptly opened up for him. Perhaps that was how she was meant to get on the train.

With this thought in mind, Deirdre came to a halt. She walked around to where her trunk was perched upon, and was about to unlatch it, when her cart lurched forward and ran over her toe.

Deirdre bit her lip to prevent herself from screaming out in pain, and looked up to see who had caused this discrepancy. A few feet away from her stood a mortified girl with dark hair cascading over her shoulders. "Shite!" She screeched, causing several people to look over. "Mum's always said I've got two left feet, s'pose it's true innit?"

Deirdre didn't concern herself too much with the girl and her fruitless apologies, but instead with what was loaded onto her cart. A cage lay on the top of a rather large trunk, and, inside, was an owl with pointed features. It stared at her for a moment, as if the animal were judging her just as the rest of the people on the platform were.

She looked back up at the girl, who was still curiously waiting for some sort of answer. Deirdre leaned over, so that passersby might not catch the words she was saying. "Are you Hogwarts too?" She asked, curiously glancing back to her owl.

Surprised, the dark haired girl leaned back and nodded. "Do you know where the platform is? I've been searching for it all morning." Deirdre said, relieved.

The girl chuckled, her entire body shivering inwardly. "Yer a muggle-born aren't ya?" Deirdre cocked her head in confusion, her brows furrowed. The girl giggled again. "Oh, right. You wouldn't know that either. Well, here. I'll show you how to get on."

She gripped her handles on her trolley, and wheeled it around the fallen cart. Cautiously, Deirdre did the same and began following the winding path that this girl had chosen to take. She weaved through the masses of people on the platform, like this was some sort of secret passageway that required a special sequence to activate.

The girl must have also known that they were tight for time, and made a point to quickly push her cart along - and also check behind her periodically to see if Deirdre had been able to keep up. Eventually, she began to slow, stopping in the smack middle of platforms nine and ten.

Deirdre had finally caught up with her acquaintance, who looked mildly amused. "See the lady standin' o'er there?" She asked, subtly gesturing to a woman with stick straight posture and a temperamental facial expression. "That's me Mum." She said, almost in a whisper - as if those around her would draw some sort of conspiracy from her words. "You, er, shouldn't worry though. She's not particu'ly fond of anyone."

Before Deirdre could ask, she was already being introduced to the woman with the stuck-up expression. "Mum!" The girl with dark colored tresses shouted, much to her mother's distaste. "This is..." She paused, realising she hadn't asked for the girls name.

"Deirdre," Deirdre supplied, forcing a smile up at the plasticy looking woman.

"Yes," said the girl, sounding relieved. "Deirdre."

Deirdre took note of the articulation of her words, which was practically nonexistent before her mother had come into earshot. She then glanced to the woman, whose face was contorted into an expression of what seemed to be mild disgust. "Where are your parents, girl?" Deirdre refrained herself from recoiling.

"Home." She had decided that this woman was not someone she could make nice with.

The woman's brows rose and fell - as if in understanding. Deirdre tore her gaze away from her, and then cursed at herself for letting the woman win this apparent match of willpower.

"Mum," said the woman's daughter. "Why don't we let Deirdre go first?" She spoke in a tone that indicated she wished her mother to alter her behavior.

However, if the clue was even picked up on, the woman made no change of expression. "Very well," she said, still leering at the girl. "Deirdre."

Deirdre glanced back up, looking over to where both the mother and her daughter's eyes were set upon: a red coloured brick pillar. She didn't want to outright ask the woman what she was supposed to do, because that would give her some sort of edge on her that Deirdre didn't want hanging over her head. Instead, she glanced over towards her daughter - who suddenly jerked into consciousness.

"Oh, right!" She said, embarrassed. "Here, maybe I should-" She began to shuffle past Deirdre, gripping her own trolley with both hands. "Now," she said, looking back at Deirdre. "What you want to do is run straight at that barrier. Don't think about it - just go, otherwise it might not work."

"What might not work?"

The girl smiled, knowingly. "Just watch - don't even blink!"

She looked towards the red brick wall, determined, and ran straight towards the barrier. Meanwhile, Deirdre braced herself for the collision that was sure to come - but didn't. One second the girl, with her sleek black hair and fake posh accent, was there, and the next she was not.

Deirdre let out a short laugh, which died immediately upon noticing the glares she was receiving from the girls mother. However, even that could not dull down her excitement. She gripped the handles on her trolley - just as the girl before her had.

She wondered if she should close her eyes, but decided that she wanted to see the entire ordeal occur. Her eyes abnormally widened, Deirdre began to briskly walk towards the barrier, steadily speeding up as she neared it. She wondered what it would feel like once she passed through the wall, smiling at the thought, but never got her answer.

Collison.

Before she knew it, Deirdre was flung backward by the force of running face first into the brick wall that was supposed to allow her into the magical world she'd been invited into.

She heard a chortle from behind her, and didn't even need to turn to know whose vindictive laughter it was. "Perhaps they sent out the owl to the wrong household," the woman said under her breath.

Ignoring her crude commentary, Deirdre shuffled around her cart and hastily picked up the items that had toppled onto the floor. "_Why didn't it work?" _She asked herself, confused and anxious all at the same time.

Smug faced, the mother gently pushed Deirdre aside. She strided forwards, quickening her pace the same way her daughter did - though somehow more elegantly. Similarly, the woman was there one moment, and gone the next.

Suddenly, Deirdre felt a surge of determination seize her. She gripped the handles on her cart, and wheeled herself backward. Surely, _surely, _if that woman could do it, so could she.

She took a few tentative steps forward, speeding up as she did before. This time she was apprehensive, occasionally slowing down and rethinking what she was doing. Finally Deirdre took a breath, then ran.

She had closed her eyes this time, scared that she might miss the train - scared that all of this was all a _dream_. She continued to run towards the barrier, letting her mind draw a blank to lose herself in. She ran, and continued to do so for what seemed like forever.

Finally, when she could stand it no longer, she willed her eyes open - and thank goodness she did. Deirdre nearly rammed into another passer-by, her mouth ajar at the magnificent scarlet train parked in front of her. She turned around, and where the pillar that had been her adversary once stood there was a plaque that read: Platform Nine and Three Quarters.

Deirdre spun back around, watching as hundreds of people rushed by - quickly boarding the train. A thought struck inside of her mind, as she shot towards her trunk. Deirdre had nearly forgotten why she was there in the first place.

As she pushed the trolley along, glancing for an entrance to board the train, she caught snippets of odd conversation. Intriguing words she couldn't quite comprehend. There was talk of Quidditch, and O.W.L examinations, and threats of sending Howlers if certain individuals misbehaved. Though none of these words made much sense to her, Deirdre kept them pinned to the back of her mind - saving them for later explanations.

She hobbled alongside the train, peering for an entrance. She caught glimpses of children her age rushing past the windows - wide eyed and grinning broadly - and teenagers years older than her lounging in the compartments, avidly immersed in conversation.

Eventually Deirdre came to a quieter entrance onto the train, and pulled her trolley to a stop, yanking her heavy trunk - filled to the brink with memories of home - up onto the train. She used both her hands to drag the suitcase along, her back facing the train corridor. She gave the trunk one last pull, and stumbled backward into the opposite wall - and someone else.

"Oh!" A squeaky voice shrieked, then broke into giggles. "Deirdre, we mus' stop meetin' like this!"

Deirdre turned, coming to face the familiar dark haired girl she had met in between stations. "Oh," she said, mimicking the girl to a slightly less outrageous degree. "Sorry, I didn't see you there."

Giggling, the girl agreed. "Fairly put." She leaned against the railing on the opposite side of the hall, a gracious smirk plastered across her face. Just as she touched the rim of the rail, a name resounded throughout the chariot.

"Gen!" A girlish voice sneered, but in a way that still somehow showed affection. "Come on, the trolleys coming by!"

Apologetically, Gen turned to Deirdre and smiled. "Sorry, they won't stop callin' till I've come." She said, taking a few steps backward. "But I'll see you round, yeah?"

"Come on Parkinson!" The obnoxious voice sounded again, as a small figure learned out of one of the compartments. "We don't have all day!"

"Put a sock innit Zabini," she said, thought smiling still. "Name's Gen by the way," she added, looking towards Deirdre one last time. "Genevieve Parkinson."

Before Deirdre had a chance to respond, the girl whipped around and dashed off towards the blonde haired bimbo down the corridor, who grinned distastefully. Startled, Deirdred teetered over back to her trunk - her brows knitted together as she watched to two girls giggle over something.

Deirdre turned around, leaving the two to their own antics. She wandered down the hallway, narrowly dodging those who darted past her - their voices filled with excitement. As she meandered, she peered into each compartment - catching quick glances at each group of people in their respected rooms. Some were filled to the brim with people, and some were only filled with a few. In either scenario, Deirdre did not feel compelled to join them.

She wandered through the halls for a while, awkwardly dragging her large trunk behind her. She had begun to think that she had walked past every single compartment, when a familiar snarky voice reverberated throughout the train.

"Come _on _Gen!" The voice whined. "Andrew said that he'd show us his new broom!"

Following the statement, a long groan filled the halls. "I don't bloody care about Bulstrode's new toy," said Genevieve, dutifully following her friend. "Can't we just go back to the compartment? Pucey's going to eat the rest of our loot if we don't get back soon."

"Oh, stop being such a dunce."

Deirdre pursed her lips, hating herself for what she was feeling. She couldn't stand to let that brat see her still roaming through the halls. As quietly as she could, Deirdre swiftly yanked the trunk behind her into the nearest compartment, concealing herself behind the window pane as best she could.

"Hello?"

For a moment, Deirdre merely stood still. She took a breath, knowing that with her luck she was bound to get her trapped in a room with strangers. She turned around, her eyes washing over the two people sat in front of her. One had short, wild red hair that curled around her freckled face, and the other had similarly messy tresses - though his were a brown colour. His eyes were different though, while the female had pretty blue eyes he had a mossy green coloured pair.

"Sorry." Deirdre gushed - her attention still on the scampering of feet outside. It seemed to have died down, but she still stood behind the window pane for good measure. "Didn't think anyone was in here."

The one with wild red hair shook her head. Her curls bobbed along with her as she did this, as if there was something with the gravitational pull that tethered her to her hair. "You can stay." She said, looking over to the boy sitting opposite her.

He seemed to receive her unspoken message, and moved over to the window. Hesitantly, Deirdre pushed her trunk under the seat and slid over to sit beside the boy.

"I'm Albus." He said, as he stuck out his hand. "And that's my cousin Rose."

She smiled, and shook Rose's hand next. "I'm Deirdre."

"This your first year?" asked Albus. He brushed his brown hair back with his hand, without even disrupting conversation - which clearly showed that he had become used to the almost absurd length of his hair.

"Yeah," said Deirdre. "Yours?"

He nodded in response, as Rose nodded along with him. "But all of our family have gone here." Albus cracked a smile, and turned towards his cousin. "Bit daunting, actually."

"I think that's the least of your worries." Deirdre said. "There were so many people in my class last year they could barely keep our names straight."

Rose smiled at Albus, leading Deirdre to believe that there may be something more to that statement than she could understand. "What about you Deirdre?' Rose asked. "Did your parents go to Hogwarts?

"No, no." Deirdre said - finding the mere thought laughable. Her parents were so ordinary, and filled the stereotypical roles of husband and wife better than anyone she had ever met. "They aren't like us."

An immediate understanding washed over the two, and the atmosphere somehow changed. Deirdre couldn't quite explain it, but it was as if there were some sort of protocol to be taken around her that was being enacted as they spoke.

"A Muggleborn!" Rose concluded, still managing a smile.

She had been called that word several times today, and it still had no connotation to Deirdre. "That's what everyone keeps telling me," she said. "What _is _a Muggleborn anyway?"

"It's someone who was born with magic, to non-magical parents." Rose explained fluidly.

Deirdre remembered the woman on the platform, Genevieve's mother. She remembered the look of disgust she had given her after Deirdre had admitted to not knowing how to get on the platform. She remembered how obvious her birthright had been to Genevieve - like a needle in a haystack.

"Don't worry," Rose said, taking note of the expression on Deirdre's face. "It won't set you behind or anything. Most pure blooded children don't know a thing about using magic either." She paused, and smiled. "My mother was a muggleborn, and everyone says that she was the greatest witch of the age."

Before Deirdre could respond, footsteps thundered down the halls - and stopped just outside the compartment. Outside there was a boy with midnight colored hair, and brown eyes. He had a mischievous grin on his face, and his eyes were locked on Albus. "Hey Al," the messy haired figure said. "You got an extra galleon on you?"

"No." Albus said. "What d'you need an extra galleon for? Dad gave you plenty."

The boy - Albus's brother - merely waved the question away, and turned his attention to Deirdre. "Hullo there," he said. "James Potter."

Shaking the extended hand, and introduced herself as well. "Deirdre."

"Pleasure," James said, with an almost smirk plastered on his face. "See you later Al," he said, then looked back to Deirdre. "And maybe I'll see you in Gryffindor later, Dee." He darted off down the corridor, in the same, barreling fashion he had arrived in.

Deirdre turned her head back to the two sat in her compartment, questioningly. Rose, reading her mind, quickly answered her confused expression. "Gryffindor is one of the four Hogwarts Houses," she explained.

"Pretty much our whole family have been in Gryffindor," Albus added, making Deirdre think back to the whole _we've got a lot to live up to _speech. "I don't know what'll happen if I'm not."

"Surely they won't care if you end up somewhere else?" Deirdre asked. "I mean you can't really help it."

"Hogwarts Houses are special, Deirdre." Rose said. "Each house represents one of Hogwarts founders and their ideals." She paused, stringing together another sentence in her head. "It really says alot about you, which house you're put in."

Deirdre thought on this peculiar system for a moment. At her old school there had been houses of sorts as well, named by the three primary colours. These were the houses that participated in sporting events, and won academic awards, and so on and so forth. These houses were simply randomised. Would there be an entrance test that she would be required to fill at Hogwarts? What if she were to lie about it? Would they have anti-lying spells that would prevent her from doing so?

"What do they say?" Deirdre asked. "The houses, I mean. What do they say about us?"

"Gryffindor," Albus said, with a sense of pride. "Is for the brave."

"Typically." Rose corrected. "Everyone is brave in their own way, but each house has their own qualities that stand out."

Albus nodded along absent-mindedly, indicating that he believed otherwise. "Gryffindor is for the bravest, then." He compromised. "There's also Ravenclaw for the brainiacs like Rose -" who made a face at her cousin, but said nothing. "Hufflepuff for the loyal, and Slytherin..." Albus stopped.

"For the ambitious." Rose supplied. She turned to Deirdre. "Albus is afraid he'll be sorted into Slytherin."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Well," Albus said, silently conceding, "No one wants to be in Slytherin. No one sane."

"Why not?" Deirdre asked.

"Because," Rose said, about to explain something else seemingly crucial to the wizarding world. "That's the house that Voldemort was in." She whispered the name, as if it were taboo. "He was the most powerful dark wizard of our parents generation. It took years for him to be defeated."

"What did he want?"

"Power, I assume." Rose said - always eager to put her assumptions forward. It was clear that she had spent some time thinking on this topic before. "He wasn't very fond of...well, muggleborns either. That's why Slytherin House is mostly comprised of pure blooded wizards, though there are hardly any of those at all anymore. Most wizards have, er, breeded with muggles - otherwise our kind would have died out a long time ago."

"So..." Deirdre said, the information slowly sinking in. "Slytherin is for dark wizards?"

"No!" Rose said, quickly. "That's just a stereotype. There were loads of good wizards who were in Slytherin - Merlin himself was one!"

"Merlin?" Deirdre said, a chuckle escaping from her. "He was real?"

Rose laughed in response. "Very real." She reached over the table, sifting through a pile of cards she and her cousin had accumulated from the masses of sweets laid out on the table. "I've got his chocolate frog card here."

Deirdre reached over and examined the card, reading the description but more curious as to where the picture was - as there was merely a black background taking up half the card. When she asked Rose about this peculiarity, she and Albus merely chuckled. "He'll be back, don't worry."

Deirdre smiled, wondering what else she would discover at Hogwarts. Magic, and Slytherin, and disappearing pictures. This was only the beginning.

Lost in thought, she almost missed the glint of a figure on the card - a man with a long white beard and periwinkle blue robes. She smiled at the card, a sense of warmth running through her. It felt like home.

"Hey, Deirdre." Albus said. "You ought to try one of these." He handed her a bag filled with colourful bead like sweets. She reached over, and plucked up one of a deep green color.

Deirdre quickly popped it into her mouth, but after tentatively biting into it, she immediately coughed it up into her hand. "What was that?" She asked, still coughing.

"What did it taste like?" Rose asked, laughing.

Deirdre smacked her lips together. Memories of mandatory rugby practice during the spring time arose, memories of her falling face first into the dirt. "Tasted like...grass."

Albus and Rose erupted in laughter.

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><p><strong>Yeah, so this story is now a thing. I was quite tempted to continue it after seeing the positive response from you guys - it's the most reviews I've ever gotten on one chapter! Next thing I have to address is that this is definitely not my best work. I just wanted to get it out here before the weekend ended, as school has begun to take up most of my spare time D: <strong>

**So yes, thanks for sticking around for this story - hope you all enjoyed.**

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><p><strong>And now for some responses!<strong>

**SassyDoe: There you have it! Haha, I hope you enjoyed this second chapter - as I wasn't planning on writing anymore for this story. I just thought since there was such positive feedback I'd give the story a go, so thank you for reviewing! :D**

**DARK5hifter: Thank you! I actually got the idea from something I read on Tumblr, maybe I'll link it on my profile or something, that was this headcanon about Dudley's kids going over to the Potters every Christmas and pretty much obsessing over all the wizarding tricks and such and I just fell in love with this character I came up with. And, also, thank you so much for your review!**

**Guest: Glad you are enjoying! Again, I've already told DARK5hifter how the idea came about, so if you're interesting just look up! **

**MoonstoneFelicis: I'm glad you gave the story a chance! I've got to say that I'm the same, usually Dudley stories are rather bland - and those that focus on his future family are few, so I was interested! And, trust me, all of that stuff you mentioned is on it's way! Finally, in regards to your very generous offer, I usually prefer to edit on my own. That's probably not the best way to do things, as it's always good to have a second opinion, but for now I'm alright. If I'm ever in need, I'll be sure to check you out first! **

**Old Chuck: I really hope it'll go places! I actually have just started brainstorming for larger plot ideas in this story, as I never imagined myself writing this story for more than the previous chapter. Hopefully it'll end up alright!**

**MRSDARRENCRISS89: Thank you so so much! **

**Guest: Here you go! :D **

**Savita: I'm so glad you thought so! Hope ****you enjoyed. **

**PaC: Thanks for reviewing! Actually I'm quite glad you did, as I find it quite interesting to see how other people would have thought this scene out. However I'm not quite sure what exactly you were saying. You've said "** **I just don't see him sitting like a bump on a log, re-enacting the past," but then you've also said "****NOT HIMSELF ****leaping off his ass and rushing, getting the post this time, much less drifting off to sleep for a few seconds AFTER a letter has arrived on a Sunday!"**

**I don't think that I've written it in a way that either of those are particularly accurate. I wanted to show a side of Dudley that no one would have ever seen because of the disapproval of his parents, and I think him just pondering over the ideas is more likely to have happened because that's pretty much what he was doing all his life growing up with Harry ^_^ Anyways, thank you so much for your thoughts!**

**Mins Awesomeness: Here you are! :D Thanks for reviewing, hope you enjoy. **

**Mambie: For some reason I can't find a link anywhere to your profile to send you this message privately, but I would be so so honoured if you wanted to translate this! All I'd ask is for a note somewhere saying that I wrote it, and maybe a link so I could see it? I just think it'd be really cool! :D Thanks so much! **


	3. Misnomers

**Chapter Three: Misnomers**

Deirdre brushed her hand across the midnight coloured lake, watching as the stars reflected in the water rippled away at her touch. It was almost like she was dipping her hand into the galaxy above her, with an infinite mass of stars and possibilities.

"Hello?"

Sighing, Deirdre pulled herself away from the entrancing mysteries of the lake, and turned around to face Albus, who wore an expression of confusion. "You looked like you were about to fall in."

"Well, I hope you were planning on catching me." Deirdre replied, with a smile that danced behind her eyes. She took a step forward, and began to walk alongside Albus, towards the castle that somehow managed glittered, despite the darkness it was shrouded in.

"The Giant Squid would have gotten to you before I could," Albus chuckled.

"Please," Rose said, appearing behind them. Even in the dark, her hair was acted as a torch. Her red curls flared out into all directions, like fire that curled into the cold air. "Don't let him fool you into believing that. Our parents are full of stories, and Albus is gullible enough to believe every single one."

"You never know," Deirdre protested. "Anything is possible." Of all the impossibilities of the world, Deirdre hardly believed that creatures like the Giant Squid were really all that impossible.

Rose reached for her hand, and pulled Deirdre along from both the lake and her delirious fantasies. "Of course you must always keep your mind open to the possibilities, but there are some things that are just absolutely ridiculous."

"It's not ridiculous," Albus droned. "Your Dad swears he's seen the squid before."

Rose shoved her cousin into silence. "And he also stands by a thousand other unbelievable statements," she combated, as Albus chuckled at her adamancy. "Do you really believe he was even conscious enough to have seen the creature?"

"Well, it's not the most impossible thing he's ever suggested."

They meandered towards the crowd of students that had formed, and followed the slender woman who had decided to lead them to the castle. She had introduced herself as Professor Linden, Head of the Astronomy department. She had sharp features, which were usually considered unattractive, however on the Professor they clashed in a somewhat nice way.

"Come now," Professor Linden called, as the children hustled inside the castle. Her voice was sweet like honey, the same persuasive tone one would hear a salesmen use on television. Except when Professor Linden spoke, one would know she was being genuine.

Deirdre walked past the Professor, and had to hold her breath. She was eleven years old, and had never been in love. However in that moment, she knew exactly what it would feel like if she ever was.

Thousands of paintings cluttered the walls, and those who were painted floated from picture to picture. There were wide marble staircases, opposite to the doors she had entered from, that seemed to extend forever. More than that, the castle had some an atmosphere that made those inside feel welcome. It felt like home.

"Welcome to Hogwarts."

All the heads in the room turned to the woman stood in front. Professor Linden had disappeared into the hall hidden behind the doors, and now another woman stood in her place. She wore emerald robes that matched her pointed hat, and had weathered features that showed her many years.

"The feast will begin in a moment, however we must deal with another matter." Her eyes glittered, which Deirdre sensed only happened with people with years upon years of wisdom. That was something completely different than how many years someone had, because wisdom came from experience. "In a minute, each of you will be sorted into one of the four Hogwarts Houses. These Houses will eventually become something comparable to your own families. With luck, each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours."

The doors moaned open, and the excited chatter in the room escalated. Deirdre could almost swear that she saw a faint smile on the woman, but she had turned around too quickly for her to decide whether or not she had actually seen it.

The Great Hall was spectacular. Deirdre could have never imagined such a wonderful place. There were four tables where the rest of the students were placed, and coloured banners that hung across the walls. She had never been in a room that emitted the warmth, and sense of community that this room had.

The woman with the pointed hat led the children down the hall, weaving in between the tables of students. Deirdre noticed that they were under some serious speculation. It was almost like the students were sizing them up. Deciding on which ones would serve their own house best.

She stopped, nearly bumping into the people in front of her, and realised that the woman had stopped them from proceeding. While they waited at the bottom of the stairs, she watched as the woman pulled out a wooden stool out from nowhere, and placed it in the middle of the room.

Conjuring another item from thin air, she pulled out another pointed hat, one that was patched and unfathomably old. With the hat in hand, she stepped forward and placed the it on the stool. She then went backward, and placed her hands respectfully in her lap.

Everyone seemed to be waiting for something, or someone, to speak up, or do something. Deirdre had been expecting one of the other faculty members, all sat behind a long horizontal table, to step forward and make a speech of what was to come, but what happened instead was entirely different.

The hat began to sing.

For many years, you all will have heard,

There were four of which you might be,

But listen close, to every word,

And perhaps you will begin to see.

In the past, it was those Gryffindors who dwelled bravely,

The Hufflepuffs were loyal and true,

Ravenclaws wore their intelligence proudly,

And Slytherins were often misconstrued.

War has ravaged us,

Blackened our morale,

Made use one minded,

And unable to change.

But still, and evermore, you demand answers.

Well let me answer you now.

Our great founders are dead and gone.

Those whose morales have built this school,

Are now buried in the ground.

The times have changed,

And with this so must we.

Not all Gryffindors must dwell bravely

Nor must all Hufflepuffs be dutifully true

Nor all Ravenclaws beam with intelligence

Slytherins must no longer be misconstrued.

Alas, this is what you do not wish to hear.

Shall we proceed then,

Who is first in line?

Let the sorting now begin.

Deirdre, who was already confused about her situation, was unable to comprehend the true meaning behind these words, but it seemed this instance did not go unnoticed by the rest of the hall. Students and teachers alike broke out into mumbles, and the mumbles escalated into worried whispers, which transformed into scattered chatter. Deirdre glanced over to Albus and Rose, who both wore expressions of worry.

"Settle down now!" Deirdre turned to the front of the room, where a man was bellowing from his seat. He seemed to be young, but the lines set in his features suggested otherwise. "Let us make haste, and return to the sorting."

The whispers did not die immediately, but overtime they ceased. "Abrahams, Alessandra." Someone called out, as a short female in the front of the crowd shuffled forward. She stepped onto the platform, and took a seat on the stool in the middle of the room.

While the rest of the people in the room still seemed to continue to be giving each other uncomprehending glances, Deirdre stood on her toes and peered over to see what was happening to Alessandra Abrahams, and stood just in time to hear the hat on her head shout out: "Gryffindor!"

Applause erupted from the table colored with scarlet banners, louder and more ferocious than the other houses. Alessandra smiled, and sauntered over to the table that had so warmly applauded her.

"Boot, Jonah." Another student walked out from the crowd, one with brown tresses that fell into his face. He stepped up onto the platform, and sat down on the stool. The woman placed the hat on his head, and waited. This time it seemed to take a while to decide on where Jonah would be placed, but eventually a conclusion was made.

"Ravenclaw!"

And so it went on.

Deirdre had been counting down the letters to her name, and knew it must be coming soon. She couldn't fathom ever being more excited than she was now. It felt like this must be a defining moment at the school, the moment that made a person a _someone_.

She watched as the woman, whom Rose had identified as Minerva Mcgonagall, stumbled over her name. It was something a woman with such stature should not have done. She took a moment to compose herself, though her brows were still furrowed, and then recited the name.

"Dursley, Deirdre."

Deirdre smiled, but she was the only one that did. There was an uneasiness that had settled into the crowd. Heads turned, and voices whispered. She was suddenly unmotivated to move from the spot her feet were attached to, but was inevitably thrusted forward.

She soon found herself sat on the stool, aware of the hundreds of eyes watching her every move. The one moment she tore her eyes away from the floor, she spotted Professor McGonagall and her sour faced expression in the corner of her vision.

It was the last thing she saw before the hat was dropped over her eyes.

_How peculiar. _

Soft. That was the only word that came to mind when she heard the voice. It was almost silent. It seemed that no one but Deirdre had heard this voice.

_What? _

_And you don't even know. Do not fret, you will learn soon. For now, let us see what Deirdre Dursley has to offer. _

Deirdre waited, and listened in on the occasional mumbles from the hat. _Intelligence. Yes, there is some of that in there. And loyalty, but only to those who deserve it. Brave...yes, yes quite possibly, and ambition - an innate desire to please. _

"I know where you belong." The hate said, this time aloud for all to hear. "Best be, Slytherin!"

Before Deirdre even saw the hat be removed from her head, she heard the chatter. She could imagine the mouths moving hurriedly, and heads turning in all directions, and, soon, she did not have to imagine this.

Wide eyed, Deirdre averted her gaze from the hundreds of students all craning to get a good look at her. She felt someone give her a good shove off of the stage, and would have been infuriated by the gesture if she wasn't so immensely grateful for it. She wasn't sure she could manage it all on her own.

Her eyes now glued to the floor, Deirdre hustled over to the table on the side furthest away from the stage. She could feel the stares, and hear the whispers, but pushed them all away. Her heart was racing, so quickly that it posed the threat to burst out of her chest at any given moment.

When she finally dared to look up, she was met with a number of stares. Some were harmless, merely curious eyes that were trying to determine whether or not Deirdre was worth their time at all, and some were more venomous. Those were the ones that sent shivers down her spine.

And for what? Deirdre could not fathom the reason. Why, she wondered, would Professor McGonagall have such a vendetta against her to have stumbled over her name? Why was it that everyone in the hall seemed to _know _her name?

"Calm yourselves!" Said the man from before. His voice boomed around the hall, and silenced each student who dared to whisper. "Dashner, Florence. Please come forward."

Gradually, the conversation died down, which made Deirdre's attempts at blending into the walls the slightest bit easier. Somehow, she had managed to convince herself to forget the incidents prior, and focus on what was happening in the present. She scaled the table for a seat, but each time she thought she spotted one, the seat closed up as she neared it.

"Come on," Deirdre heard someone mumble. "Just move over."

Her eyes flickered up and landed on a boy who was sat on the very end of the table. His hair had been forcefully combed down for this momentous occasion, but it was obvious that it was not meant to last, as parts of his hair were already beginning to deter from the rest of his head.

He turned around, and his eyes landed on Deirdre. His hair fell into his face, as he slid over and offered her the end seat.

Deirdre calculated his motives, but could not come to a conclusion reasonable enough for her to walk away from his offer. She stepped towards the table, still completely aware of the cold glares she was receiving, and sat down.

"Thanks," Deirdre whispered, as to not draw the attention of anyone else in earshot.

He smiled, and offered her a handshake. "I'm Eli."

She glanced down to his hand, which was steady despite the clamour going on around them. Tentatively, Deirdre decided to shake it, and smiled back at him. "Deirdre, but you already knew that."

Her eyes washed over Eli, and onto the people sat behind him. Their eyes were set away from Deirdre, but their mouths spoke of nothing but her name. Eli either seemed to not notice this, or ignored the commotion entirely. "Good to meet you," he said. "Welcome to Slytherin."

"Thanks," Deirdre repeated, still focused on the mumbles. She looked back towards Eli, who could not dismiss the oddities Deirdre's presence had caused. "What's everyone looking at?"

Eli chuckled. "You!" He said, as if she should have known.

Deirdre's brows furrowed together of their own accord. "Why?"

"You really don't know?" Eli asked, as he cocked his head to the side.

"She's probably just pulling your leg." There was a student sat across the table, whose dark tresses fell in curls around her face. "You know, play it up for the attention." She would have been pretty had it not been for the clear expression of disgust plastered on her face.

"Buzz off Bella," Eli replied smoothly, as if he had done the same a thousand times before. Bella stuck out her tongue at him, and then smirked. It was the way a girl acted when there was no other way to indicate attraction.

_"__Quiet!" _A voice screeched from the front of the room, Professor McGonagall. Her emerald robes flared out at her feet, like she had been stomping to gather their attention. "I expect _all _of you to give your utmost respect to the remaining students, and remain _silent _for the remainder of the sorting!"

For the next few minutes, there was indeed silence. There was only the periodic resurface of polite applause that came after each sorting. Deirdre hadn't acknowledged this before, but it was in that moment she came to realise that she had not even received this small gesture of welcome when she was sorted. Instead of applause, she got murmurs and whispers.

"Professor McGonagall," Eli leaned over and whispered, in an amicable attempt at small talk. "She's been at the school for decades. Could've been the Headmaster if she wanted to be, but she passed the position to Ketteridge."

"Professor Ketteridge." Deirdre repeated, the name foreign in her mouth. "Sitting in the middle?" She watched as the man in question scratched his nose, stoically watching as the remaining students were sorted.

"Correct." Eli answered. "You have to feel for the guy though. The Daily Prophet has been releasing some horrible articles about him. They have even accused him of harbouring banned substances and selling them in Diagon Alley."

"Why?" Deirdre asked, as Benjamin Vale walked to meet with the Ravenclaws. "It cannot be true."

Eli chucked. "Course it is not true. Everyone knows that. But The Prophet has this discord for whoever decides that they're worthy to take on the school after Dumbledore. I reckon that's why McGonagall refused to take it all on. She used to be close to the old bloke."

There was a clap, and Professor Ketteridge stood. There was no microphone set up anywhere on the stage, but his voice projected itself effortlessly. Perhaps magically. "To those who have just walked off the stage, welcome. And to the rest of us, welcome back."

"I can see this years sorting has caused somewhat of a disturbance among us tonight, but it is not to be worried about. Our dear hat has merely reinstated an idea that should have already been evident, and should have already been a large part of your time here at Hogwarts. Often, we get wrapped up in house competitions and Quidditch games, and forget to see that our circles _do _extend past our common rooms." Pause. "And that is all I have to say on the matter. As for the rest of this evening, I will leave that duty to your respective Prefects. And, for now, I wish you a hearty meal, and clear dreams."

The man sat back down, receiving a small round of applause. Deirdre, however, forgot to take part. She was too busy, lost in deep thought. Professor Ketterdige's speech was not so difficult to understand, but it somehow felt as though there were a deeper meaning to it. Something else that wasn't quite clear to her yet, but was ever present in the words he had graced them with. It was like everyone else knew exactly what he was referring to, but dared not to speak of it.

Deirdre tore her eyes away from the stage, and felt someone nudge her shoulder. "Roast, Deirdre?"

The once barren plates in front of her were now plated with delicacies from all over. Her parents both had a passion for food. Her mother honed in on perfecting her culinary skills, and her father was more than pleased to be her guinea pig. Or literal pig. Secretly, Deirdre believed that this was one of the main reasons they got on so well in the first place.

But now the warm roasts, and other dishes Deirdre could not put a name to, were different. They seemed welcoming, and inviting - ridiculous, considering she was referencing food, but true nonetheless.

Perhaps, and this thought crossed her mind only for a moment before she banished it into oblivion, she was not only grateful for the delicious scents and tastes the food provided her with, but the fact that nobody around her was able to talk for more than a few seconds with their mouths full.

Dismissal from the Great Hall was a blessing. As soon as Professor Ketteridge waved his hand, Deirdre shot out of her seat and followed Eli down the corridor, or at least as far as was allowed of her. Eli, she learned, had already been promoted to his Second Year, and had, though perhaps not purposely, left Deirdre as soon as he was reunited with his old friends.

She found herself making another fruitless attempt at blending into the walls, and, though it was easier now that she had a crowd to blend into, it was nearly impossible to avoid her peers in a roomful of them.

The new students were to follow their house Prefect to their common room. In the case of the Slytherins, this meant a gangly fellow who called himself Kenton Willis. He led the students down moving staircases, through secret tapestries, and down sketchy hallways, all to arrive at a darkened corridor on the bottom floor. The dungeons, Deirdre heard someone say.

"Right, here's the Common Room," Kenton said, smacking his lips together with each word. "There's a new password every semester - so don't forget it, and don't start yapping with the other houses about it." He turned to the door, his robes fluttering around his legs.

"Password?" The portrait on the door drawled.

"Severus Snape!"

The man in the portrait, sat on a leather bound love seat, swung open and revealed a large hole in the wall, the gateway to the common room. Everyone barrelled through it, eager to see what awaited on the other side, and glanced around.

It wasn't extraordinarily different from the rest of the castle, save the embellishments of silver and green, but it was a sight to Deirdre nonetheless. Kenton lazily directed the girls up to their dormitories, and began to trudge up the staircase to show the boys theirs.

At the top of a stone staircase was a wooden door, and behind that door was an array of four poster beds, each of which had a different trunk at the end. Recognising one of these trunks as her own, Deirdre made her way to the bed in the corner, running her hand across the linen sheets.

"Ooh, I hate sleeping next to the doorway! Someone swap with me!" The voice was familiar, and Deirdre did not need to turn to know who it was. "Gen, would you swap with me?"

The girl who had just entered the room shrugged. "My bed is over 'ere," she said, walking up to the cot nearest to Deirdre.

She could almost hear the retraction of her request. "You know what, it's alright. If a murderer manages to slip in, I'll have a much better shot at escaping than you lot."

Deirdre bit her tongue, but then closed her eyes. She was simply too tired, worn out, and confused to put up a fight about sleeping arrangements. Without even bothering to change out of her robes, she collapsed onto the bed.

As she did this, her bed frame creaked, and drew the attention of the four other girls in the room. Silently, they looked to one another - wondering what the protocol was for a situation like this. Eventually, the majority of eyes in the room worked their way over to Genevieve, nominating her to figure it out.

"Er," she said, rubbing the back of her neck. "'Alright, Deirdre?"

Deirdre took another breath, and nodded. "Yeah," she said. "Tired." She heard mumbles commence, and rolled over on her side to block them out. Drowsiness and bloatedness eventually won over, and lulled her into sleep.

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><p><strong>Authors Notes: Yeah, it almost physically hurts to put up this chapter without editing it properly, but I know that if I do I'll just end up harbouring it from you all for another week. So here it is. <strong>

**Sorry that I haven't updated in a little over a month. Busy life, yeah? And I'm also sorry this chapter is probably not the most exciting, and maybe even predictable, but it's here, so yeah. I'll try and get the next update up as soon as possible, as I do have an outline ready for it, but no guarantees! **

**Leave a review if you enjoyed! - or not :) **

**DARK5hitfter: Thank you so much, it really means a lot to me! And I do intend on incorporating Dudley into this story a bit more, but not immensely so. Personally, I feel like as of now his opinions on the matter are just very scrambled, and they've probably been that way for a long time. **

**Guest: Initially I thought so too, and your review made me go back and check the facts. I think historically Thanksgiving is primarily for Canadians and Americans, but there are some Brits who apparently celebrate too - just because it's a nice idea I suppose? But yeah, I might go back and switch it out for another holiday later on. **

**MRSDARRENCRISS589: Hopefully the wait won't be too long this time! And thank you :)**

**OMGIluvreading: Thanks so much!**

**Ryuuohjin: :D Thank you loads **


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